Vegas
by Puzzlie's Imajinacion
Summary: Stan and Wendy are planning on getting married...! A pissed off Cartman and a downtrodden Kyle decide to go to Vegas and drown their sorrows in gambling and beer. Oncoming hangovers and blurry memories. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: **Hello everyone. This story has been on my mind lately, ever since I first listened to the song _Waking Up In Vegas_ by Katy Perry. This is basically a songfic, but not really a songfic 'cause most songfics have the lyrics throughout it, but this doesn't. I am actually really proud of it, so I hope you all will like it too. :D Oh, and I forgot to mention I fail at life... 8D

**Summary: **When Cartman and Kyle learn that Stan and Wendy are planning on getting married, they run away to Vegas. When Kyle wakes up in the hotel room, the night before is a complete blur, but that's what you get for waking up in Vegas.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. I don't own the song either. Shit, I don't even really own this IDEA. Yeah, 'cause I'm a cliche writer. v.v;

_**Vegas**_

"_Shut up and put your Jew gold where your mouth is, kike!"_

"Ah!" Waking up from bad dreams was always horrible, especially when the first thing your eyes see is the floor because you fell off your bed and smashed your face against the ground below.

I dreamt Cartman and I ran away to Vegas. The dream was almost a complete blur, though. The last thing I can even remember from the dream was fat ass telling me to get out my money, and that he knew I wasn't broke because I was Jewish. Whatever.

I think bad dreams become even worse when you realize it _wasn't_ all a nightmare. I realized this when I was finally able to get up off the floor and look around the room. I about panicked when I saw this was not my room. My room, although cleaner than all my other friends, was _never_ this clean. The only thing that seemed out of sorts was the bed, but that was because I fucked it up… Fuck, I'm in a hotel room.

I needed to think for a moment, collect my thoughts… _ugh_. What the fuck happened last night? Why did we go to Vegas in the first place…? Oh wait, yeah, _now _I remember.

_They_ were planning on getting married. What the fuck! Who the HELL gets married when you're eighteen years old anyway? And to someone you've known since fucking elementary? … I have to face it though. Normally I'd be happy for Stan, but for some reason, he and Wendy being together always just bugged me. I used to make excuses, like I just didn't want him hurt again and that I just didn't think they were right for each other. It wasn't until I was sixteen did I realize why I was so irritated by them kissing each other right in front of me, all the time.

I was in love with Stanley Marsh.

Not that he knew it, oh no, once I found out, I kept it to myself. I didn't tell anyone. Not my brother, not Kenny, and especially not fucking Cartman. Somehow that fat ass already knew, because once he figured out the "wonderful" news of the two raven-haired teens getting engaged, he grabbed me and shouted obscenities about how unrequited love is fucking shit. Then we made our plans.

"Let's go to Vegas!" Cartman shouted, still pulling me towards God knows where.

"Let go of me, fat ass!" I grunted, trying to get his meaty paws off of my damn arm.

"Hey, Jew, I know you hate the thought of those two getting married almost as much as I do. So let's go to fucking Vegas, get drunk, and forget all about them for one stupid night."

"There are a few problems with your plans, Cartman." I pointed out, making us stop by finally getting him to release my arm. I could beat this guy's ass easily, didn't matter if I was blindfolded or only using one arm, but when he was determined, you could not get him to let go of you. I was surprised I was able to do it.

"And what's that?" He actually questioned, looking at me with a confused look.

"First of all, it's Vegas! Like my mom's going to let me go!"

"That's why you don't tell your mom where you're going, Kahl." He told me, giving me a God-are-you-really-that-stupid look.

"Then what am I supposed to tell her? 'Oh hey, Mom, I'm going to go on a road trip with the friend I hate. Is that okay?'" I mock asked, then mirroring Cartman's look to indicate the pointlessness of his plan.

"No, you SAY we're going college searching in Denver, duh. You don't even HAVE to mention me." Dammit, that was a good idea…

"Why the hell would I want to go to Vegas with YOU of all people anyway?" I shot back, changing the subject to avoid admitting to him he had a good idea for once.

"Like I want to go to Vegas with you, Jew, but you're the only with a car." He did have a point there. His mother was never able to whore herself enough during her later years to be able to afford him a car, don't even want to mention Kenny, and Stan had a car too, but obviously we were trying to avoid him and Wendy at all costs.

"You were talking about getting drunk," I mentioned, folding my arms, "How the hell are we going to be able to even get into a casino? We're not twenty-one!"

"I'm not stupid, Kahl, of course I already thought of that. That's why we get fake IDs! They work all the time!" Cartman exclaimed, his eyes sparking at the thought of breaking the law.

"You do realize we'll be stuck in a car together for over ten hours?" I pointed out. His face fell then, and then he grimaced, grinding his teeth together.

"We will have to live with that, then, won't we?" He growled out, clenching and unclenching his fists. "We'll have to leave really early though… maybe about five or six o'clock. So you'll have to stay at my house, say you're staying at Kenny's or something though or else your stupid bitch mother will get suspicious, and my mother won't ask any questions so we don't need to worry about her, and then we'll leave really early and head towards Las Vegas. I'll get us a hotel room, and we'll split on gas money. C'mon, Kahl, I know you don't want to be around THEM right now," After his elaborate, "thought out" plan, he pointed towards the two fiancés. I felt sick to my stomach just watching them give each other Eskimo kisses…

"You're right," I muttered low under my breath with a sigh. "You get the hotel, and I'll get my mother to let me go…"

And so we headed towards Las Vegas. My mom was thrilled that I was thinking of going to college in Denver. She was thinking I was planning on going far away to Harvard or Yale or whatever. Fuck that, I want to go to whatever college Stan goes to… or at least I did.

I'll spare the details of the actual road trip. It wasn't much. We basically argued the whole fucking way, and we kept on having to stop to get fucking snacks for lard ass, no surprise there though. The only important part was when he decided to fucking smack me with a bunch of shit about Stan, forgetting the whole point of going on this fucking trip. I guess he didn't care if I was thinking of my heartbreak, just so long as he wasn't thinking of his. I realized how vindictive I was because I just shot right back about things about Wendy.

"I knew you were a fag for Stan," Cartman began, stuffing his fat face with Doritos he bought from our last stop. It was supposed to be for both of us, but the fact I said I wasn't hungry at the moment to Cartman meant he was going to eat all of it without saving any. And then he'd be hungry _again_ five minutes later. So is the ways of a fat fuck.

"Can we please not talk about him?" I grunted, gripping the steering wheel tightly, grinding my teeth together. He wasn't going to drop it. Once Cartman finds something that gets to me, he uses it to his advantage.

"It's weird, though. He isn't exactly on your intellectual level, you know."

"Cartman, _please_ shut up."

"I'm seriouslah, Kahl! What do you see in him? He's all wrong for you. You two just don't fit each other." He wolfed down a huge handful of Doritos after he said that last line. From the corner of my eye, I could see pieces of chip falling from his mouth as he fought to keep it in his fat mouth. I took in a deep breath, counted to ten, and stared hard at the road ahead of me.

"Neither do you and Wendy, you fat fuck," I fired back curtly, keeping my voice at a level that screamed dangerous if Cartman tried to drag this out any further.

"Fuck you, Jew. Fuck you." Surprisingly that was all that came out of Cartman's mouth besides falling food for the rest of the trip. I enjoyed the silence, knowing that once we reached our hotel, it wouldn't last for long.

Once we hit the hotel, the only real things coming out of our mouths were our usual insults. It wasn't until we walked into the hotel room that we started _really_ fighting. And you know how it's usually Cartman that starts the fight? Well, this time it was me, but I did have a good reason.

"Cartman, you fat fuck, you only got one bed! What the fuck?" I bet the people in the lobby could hear me, I yelled so loud.

"It's all I could fucking afford!" Cartman used an excuse, glaring at me as we both walked into the room and dropped our bags down. I slammed the door shut with my foot, glaring deep at my hotel roommate.

"Why didn't you tell me then? I could have pitched in some money so we could get a room with two beds. I do NOT want to share a bed with you!" I threw my hands up in the air exasperatedly and started pacing.

"If I would have asked you to help pay, you would have changed your mind, 'cause it would have been spending money, and you're a penny-pinching Jew," He replied matter-of-factly, folding his arms calmly. I swear I could _feel_ my eyes smoldering. I gave him a hard look then took a slow, deep breath.

"I'll just order a cot for me before we go to bed." I said as calmly as I could, my clenched fists shaking with my repressed anger.

"Woah, you're going to let me have that bed all to me and _you're_ going to take the cot?" Cartman exclaimed, staring at me in utter surprise. I could feel my anger seeping out like poison with my next choice words.

"Well, you're a lard ass, Cartman," I started out, my mouth twitching to fight off a sarcastic laugh, "You'd break the cot, and I don't want to have to pay for a broken bed, thank you very much." Ha. That got him. His eyes deepened into a menacing glare. I swear his eyes turn black when he does that, instead of their usual dark brown color…

"Just like you, Kahl. Worrying about money just like the filthy, stinkin' Jew rat you are," Cartman hissed as we walked closer to each other. I was taller than him, not by much, but enough to tower over him.

"One more racist remark from you, Cartman, and I'll destroy that new Xbox your mom got you for your birthday," I threatened. His eyes sparked with fear for just a second, but I caught it. He knew I meant business. I made sure to destroy his old Xbox when he gave me AIDS. That memory still pisses me off, God dammit. Cartman sighed deeply and backed off, going over towards his suitcase.

"Fine, Kahl, fine." He muttered.

"Wow, amazing, you backed off after the first threat. It's not much like you." I pointed out, going towards my own suitcase.

"Yeah, well, I don't like my mother upset with me," Cartman grumbled.

"… You're such a mama's boy," I grimaced, looking at Cartman in disgust, "Besides, when the fuck has your mother ever really been upset with you?"

"… I'm not answering that," He paused, then gave me an incredulous look, "Wait a minute, you're saying _I'm_ a mama's boy? You won't do anything that would displease your mother! It took you until the last minute to stand up to her during that war with Canada! I don't know _why_, considering how much of a BITCH your mother is," Cartman shouted with his hands up in the air.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Cartman!" I screamed, taking everything I had in myself to not lunge at him, "Don't call my mom a bitch!" Funny, we've seen to have this conversation before… many times, "I'd rather have her than your mother any day. Your mom's a fucking whore!"

"At least my mother would still love me if she knew I was gay, Kahl."

Fucker. He hit below the belt with that one.

"… My mom would still love me… she would just think it was wrong," I murmured. "Let's just drop it." Thinking of Stan was NOT the point of this trip, "Where's our fake IDs anyway?" I turned to him, just to see him brandish them out.

"Right here, you impatient Jew," He threw mine at me and caught it clumsily. I examined it thoroughly to make sure it looked convincing.

"And you're sure these will work, right? Even to get alcohol?" Yeah, I was going there. I wanted to numb my mind, for just this night… I know I shouldn't, and if Stan found out, he'd fucking kill me but… I couldn't help it. I just wanted to forget everything, just for one night.

"Aw, the Jew's gonna try to be a little daredevil!" Cartman mocked, fluttering his eyes like a stupid fangirl, "Yeah, don't worry 'bout it, Kahl, you'll be able to get drunk and forget all about your troubles." The way he said that made it sound like I wasn't the only one that was planning on getting shit-faced…

This is where things start to get blurry… I remember going to the casino. I remember getting asked for our IDs, and thankfully we were able to get through. Ughhh… What the fuck happened after that anyway…?

A groan from outside the hotel room awoke me. It was then I realized that I forgot about Cartman. Amazing, really, forgetting that fat fuck. The groan was obviously from him, I knew his whining noises anywhere, hearing them all my life would do that for me. I rubbed my eyes and stumbled towards the hotel room, opening the door.

Cartman landed flat on his back, his head hitting the carpet hard.

"God dammit, Kahl, warn someone you're going to open the fucking door before you do it!" He yelled at me, getting on his feet as quick as he could… which really wasn't that fast.

"Sorry," I sneered, "I didn't know you were leaning up against the fucking door." I looked outside into the hallway, then looked over at him, "Why the fuck were you sleeping outside the room anyway?" I raised an eyebrow down at him, confusion probably etched onto my visage. He glanced at me, then hurried and looked away.

"… I lost the room key," He admitted, shame dripping from his words.

"What?" I shouted, staring at him in disbelief, "Fuck, Cartman, you know we have to pay for those!"

"No, we don't, Kahl! Only if we lose both of them, and _you_ still have yours, I assume, kike," Cartman growled, sitting down on the bed. "And would you please stop fucking shouting? My head feels like it's about to split open."

"Oh, you poor baby, do you have a hangover?" I said with artificial sweetness, rolling my eyes afterwards. "Shit, dude, do you remember anything about last night?" I asked hesitantly, glancing over at him as he rubbed his temples. Like that would heal his pounding headache. I waited a few moments until I realized he wasn't going to answer me. Fine, whatever, I didn't give a shit. He then gazed up at me all of a sudden, with an eyebrow raised.

"Kahl," He gave me a long and serious look. What? Did I have something on my face?

"Yes, fat ass?" I replied curtly. Maybe he wasn't the only one with a hang over… then again being around Cartman always gave me a splitting headache.

"Jews can't be Elvis." What the fuck was he talking about?

I looked down at my attire… to find I was wearing an Elvis get up. What the FUCK happened last night? UGH, and this was covered in fucking glitter. I don't know how I didn't realize I was wearing it before. If Cartman wasn't in the room, I would have torn the fucking outfit off as soon as I could. All I could do right now, though, was resort to dusting off the fucking glitter… so much fucking glitter.

"You know, Kahl, if you and Stan could ever have a baby, you know, if this was some magical world we all lived in where men would get pregnant," He prattled on, I half paying attention as a scraped sparkles off my sleep, "Your kid would look just like Elvis." I stopped my OCD-like scratching of the clothes and stared at him in bewilderment.

"What the fuck, Cartman?" I almost shouted. He winced and started rubbing his temples together.

"I don't know. The alcohol must still in my system," He answered, growling, "And would you fucking keep your voice down!" It wasn't really a question more than it was a demand. So of course I was just going to raise my voice higher. I don't take to any of Eric Cartman's commands.

"No, I will not keep my fucking voice down because if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess! … Story of my fucking life!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air and sitting down in a nearby chair. "Fuck." I placed my head in my hands, peering through my fingers over at Cartman, who was giving me one big dirty look.

"Kahl, I think you're sadly mistaken. We wouldn't be in Vegas if it wasn't for you. After all, you _are_ the one who drove us here."

"Don't you DARE fucking blame me for this!" I jumped to my feet and ran over to him, my fist poised and ready for his fat fucking face.

"Woah, woah, calm down, Kahl, don't need to get all pissed off," Cartman mocked, backing away from me slowly, his hands up in front of him defensively.

"Then _don't_. Fucking. Blame me," I hissed through grinded teeth, putting my arm down slowly, giving him my best don't-fuck-with-me glare.

"Fine, fine," Cartman shrugged.

"We should just start heading home," I said as calmly as I could, taking a deep breath and sighing loudly. I reached for my wallet, noticing, just now, that there was particular ring donning my left ring finger. I blinked and brought it to my face to thoroughly examine it. "OH MY GOD!" I screamed, taking the ring off and throwing it towards Cartman, "Get it off of my finger!" I shuddered, holding my arms against my stomach. Cartman looked at the ring confusedly and then glared at me.

"Why the _fuck_ were you wearing my class ring?" Cartman demanded.

"I don't know! It was just on my finger, I didn't even notice it until now!" I cried out defensively.

"Likely story, Jew," Cartman growled, "You probably stole it so you could get some fucking money. You're a Jew after all."

"Then why would I have given it back to you?" I asked, my voice squeaking because I was still in horror that something that was once on Cartman was on me.

"… You knew I would have seen it!" Was his answer. I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

"Let's just hope we didn't somehow get hitched, okay?" I found myself saying. Hey, we had no clue what happened, and I've seen enough Vegas movies to know certain possibilities of what could happen.

"Yeah, right, I don't think even Vegas would let Eric Cartman marry a Jew," Cartman replied smugly.

"Cartman, one more crack like that," I warned. My eyes were getting strained from all this glaring at him. I knew I shouldn't have gone on this trip with him. Nothing good would come out of me going anywhere with Cartman.

I reached for my wallet, noticing it was a lot lighter than it should be. I looked through it quickly. Oh my God… no! I checked a couple of more times. I closed my eyes, praying it was just a trick of my eyes from drinking way too much last night. I groaned when I looked at it one more time. I just had to admit it.

I was now flat fucking broke.

"I don't have any money," I whined out. I could hear a snicker escape Cartman and I turned sharply towards him, "Don't you dare fucking make a racist joke of that Cartman or I'll fucking kick your ass!"

"Fine, fine, don't blow a fucking gasket," He replied, his mouth twitching in trying to suppress his laughter. There was a pause before he let out, "Why don't you try to go win some money down at the Casino?"

"I'd love to, but the thing is I'm fucking broke! I wouldn't have any money to start with," I replied sourly. I could hear him starting to snicker again.

"Oh, that's just… that's just sweet, a Jew with no money!" Cartman started to guffaw. Next thing I know my fist connected with his face. "Ow, fucking kike!" He yelled at, nursing his face in his hand. Well, that shut him up. I looked back towards my wallet… I felt something else was missing, and I wasn't sure of what. Fuck. What was it…?

"God dammit!" I shouted, "I lost my fucking fake ID too!" Well, this trip was just turning out fucking splendid, wasn't it?

"You what? Dammit, Kahl, those cost me money!"

"Hey, at least _I_ didn't lose the room key and get locked out last night!" I spat back, knowing after I said it really wasn't viable for the argument. I sighed in frustration. "Let's just… let's just go home." I said, "We have no other reason to stay here anymore." There was a bit of silence as I grabbed my suitcase quickly. I glanced over at Cartman to see him with a malicious grin on his face.

"Oh, _you_ may not have a reason to stay, Jew, but it seems like _I_ do," He grinned wider, his eyes narrowing dangerously, as he pulled up his wallet to show me… what looked to be way too much cash. I groaned inwardly but stayed composed on the outside – wasn't going to show how upset I really was to fatass here.

"You're forgetting one important detail, Cartman." I replied, placing my hand on my hip in irritation.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" His confident smirk was still plastered on his fat face. I stopped myself from glaring, although it took a lot of effort.

"I'm your ride home," I said matter-of-factly, his smirk dropping almost instantly. Without another snide remark, he started packing, grumbling obscenities under his breath as he did so. I beamed in triumphant, but it quickly fell, knowing I had to spend more time on the road with him… Oh, Hell had to be a much nicer place…

Once we were both finished packing, I did a room check to make sure nothing that belonged to us was still in it. Cartman was still quiet after I shut him up earlier. I almost wanted to question him about it, considering how amazing it was to not hear Cartman open up his fat mouth when you're around him, but I didn't want to risk him starting to talk. When we reached the lobby, however, I had to speak to him.

"Go check us out," I said, pointing towards the front desk.

"What? Why me? I checked us in," He whined. Seems like he wanted to head home almost as much as I did, either that or he was just not looking forward to the ride, "Besides, I don't want to."

"I can't risk them asking for an ID, Cartman!" I protested, my fists clenching at my sides… oh, it always took so much effort not to slug him…

"Well, you could. If they did ask, that'd be a very amusing sight," His eyes glinted maliciously. I took a deep breath and just started heading out.

"I'll see you in the car," I told him, not letting him even get a word in edgewise.

"Kahl, God dammit!" I heard him yell. I knew he'd head over to the desk though… he's the one that paid for the rooms, so he'd be the one getting fined or whatever.

Reaching my car, I popped the trunk open and threw my bags in hastily. Ten fucking hours. I felt like crying. I can feel the frustration tears trying to leak through. No. No, no, no. Not in front of fat ass. That was NOT going to be the "cherry" on top of the sundae today. No!

I rubbed my eyes frantically, pleading and praying with every deity known to man that Cartman wouldn't see me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"What's wrong, Kahl, trying not to cry?" I heard the infamous accent not too far away, his tone completely mocking. Oh, did I want to punch him, I wanted to punch him so hard. I put my hands at my sides, gripping them into tight fists before grinding my teeth and looking at him.

"This is up to you, fat ass. We can either have a nice, _silent_ ride home, or you can be tied to the top of the car!" I pointed angrily at the top to seal my threat. His eyes widened in fear, then narrowed a bit in confusion.

"Jesus, Kahl," He muttered.

"Shut. The fuck. Up," I hissed, opening the door to the driver's seat quickly.

"Don't break the door, Jew," Cartman muttered as he climbed into the passenger's seat beside me.

"What did I say?" I shouted, turning to him quickly, my eye twitching in anger. He raised his hands in defense. Normally I know he would try to use some sarcastic remarks to fuel my anger more, but he knows I'm his only way home right now… I don't give him a chance to say anything as I jam my key into the ignition, turning it to the right to turn it on.

It didn't start. I try again.

Fuck. Why isn't it working?

FUCK.

FUCK!

… I checked the gas. Empty. Empty! And I was broke, so I couldn't put any gas in it.

"FUCKING SHIT!" I shouted as loudly as I could, banging my head against the steering wheel a couple of times, not caring if it would cause a bump or a bruise. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" I banged my hands against the dashboard.

"Woah, Jew, calm down," I heard Cartman say lightly, a laugh hiding beneath his words, "You've got sand in your vagina again, we better go – " I don't know what I was thinking, but in the next second, my fist landed against his left cheek, sending his right cheek into the window.

White hot anger, that's all I could feel. "I DO NOT HAVE SAND IN MY VAGINA… I DON'T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING VAGINA!" I shouted as loud as I could, towering over the fat fuck, breathing hard as if my body was trying to get rid of steam.

"That's it!" Cartman shouted, opening the door to the passenger's side, "I'm sick of the abuse!" He slammed the door shut after he clambered out, hurrying to God knows where.

"Abuse? You're saying I'M abusing YOU?" I demanded, climbing out of my own car and hurrying over to him. "And where the fuck are you going?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know?" He smirked at me, as if he had the upper hand in this. Where was an electrical sander when you needed one? Wiping that smirk – no, that fat MOUTH – off of his face would be a very good stress reliever right about now.

He reached a payphone. So, he was going to call someone. Who the hell was he going to call? He picked the phone up and started dialing. I tried to think of who he'd call… he's probably going to call someone who'd come and pick him up… but who would listen to him and come and pick him up all the way out in Vegas?

SHIT.

I snatched the phone away from him and fucking slammed it back down onto its base.

"You are NOT calling your mother!" I snarled, grabbing him by his shirt and hoisting him near me, "We're basically partners in crime now, and if you get caught, I get caught, and I'm NOT getting in trouble because of you! _You got me into this you fat fuck!_"

His eyes glared daggers at me as he was about to say something back but we both stopped as we heard our voices being called out in the distance.

"Kyle!" … that voice was familiar.

"Cartman!" … that voice was also familiar.

"There you guys are!" Those two voices were way too familiar. I dropped Cartman, who fell on his lard ass, and turned towards the beckoners.

"S… S-Stan?" I stuttered, rubbing my eyes to make sure this wasn't some post-alcoholic delusion… I wasn't even sure if those existed. I became speechless. My mind wandered into its imagination as I daydreamed about my white knight saving me and taking me away... I was just about to smack myself before I felt Stan doing it for me.

"What the FUCK is your problem, asshole?" He demanded of me, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. I was completely speechless, completely bewildered. I didn't know what to say… I didn't even know HOW he found me. I could hear another loud slap, and I glanced over to see Wendy placing a red mark upon Cartman's cheek… his face was going to hurt in the morning.

I expected Cartman to yell or hit her back, but he seemed about as speechless as I was. I looked back at Stan, confusion etched upon my face.

"What… what are you guys doing here?" I forced myself to say, my words coming out slowly, my perplexity obvious in my voice.

"What are we doing here…?" Stan asked slowly, looking at me like I was incredibly stupid, "WHAT are we doing here? We were looking for you! We were worried, asshole!" He growled. Wow… he was… really mad.

"Or well, YOU were worried about KYLE," Wendy snapped.

"Oh GOD, don't start on that _AGAIN_," Stan snarled, turning on her. They began bickering, their words dripping out of their mouths like venom, too quickly for me to catch what they were saying.

I'm confused… Wendy and Stan don't fight like this… the last time I remember Stan even yelling at Wendy was during Halloween back in third grade… I mean, he didn't even yell at her when they broke up in fourth grade… But this. They were going at each other. Up in each other's faces yelling. What was going on…? Was I dreaming…? The pain still on my cheek from Stan was evident that I wasn't… but… _what? _I looked down at their hands, both of theirs shaped into fists at their sides. There was… something… Something missing…

"Stan, Wendy," I interrupted, both of them giving me a sharp look that I wonder was because of their fighting or because they were both really angry with me, "Um… sorry, but where… where's your engagement rings?"

"The weddings off." They announced at the same time, both of their tons completely and utterly serious. … I wasn't sure if I should slap myself again to make sure I was dreaming, or if I should sprout wings and fly up into the clouds… not that that would make it seem like a dream either, but…

"What?" Cartman interrupted my happy thoughts, "You guys aren't engaged anymore?" He gave them a confused look.

"No," Wendy started, grinding her teeth together as she glared at Stan, "Because SOMEONE is an inconsiderate asshole who only thinks about himself."

"For the last time, Wendy, I don't only care about myself! I just don't give a shit about Cartman!"

"He's your FRIEND! You should be considerate about him! But no, you were only worried about _Kyle._" She pointed towards me. I felt like hiding… I really didn't want to a part of their argument. I wonder if this is how everyone felt when Cartman and I fought…

"Oh my GOD! I don't give a shit about Cartman! I actually CARE about Kyle because he's my best friend. Of course I'm going to be worried about him and only him when he goes fucking missing!" Stan yelled back… I think I felt my heart flutter… "And when Cartman is missing as well, of course I'm going to assume the worst about him because Cartman is an inconsiderate, sociopathic asshole!"

"I told you not to call him that!" Wendy screamed, glaring daggers at her… erm… previous fiancé.

"Wait, wait, wait," I heard Cartman say, "Not that I want to interrupt anyone standing up for me," pathetic, egotistical, self-centered asshole, "But how exactly did you guys find us here?"

"I hacked into your computer," Wendy stated matter-of-factly.

"… Heheh, I'm sorry, I… I thought you said you hacked into my computer. Now, tell me again, how did you find us?" Cartman batted his eyes at Wendy sweetly, which meant that if he heard the wrong thing, he was going to snap. Oh, God, where was a bomb shelter when you needed one?

"I. Hacked. Into. Your. Computer," Wendy said slowly, emphasizing every word.

"You… WHAT?" Cartman threw his hands up into the air, his eyes smoldering.

"How else was I going to find you?" Wendy demanded, her hands on her hips.

"You… bitch!" Cartman shouted, pushing her against the brick wall behind her. Was I really witnessing this…? Am I still dreaming? Oh God…

"Ow!" Wendy shouted, then looked at Cartman in amazement, "You just… you just pushed a woman!"

"Yeah, well, that's revenge for fourth grade, ho!" Cartman shouted.

"Cartman, that was ten years – !" Before she could finish, he locked lips with her. I glanced at Stan, who was glancing at me… He looked like he was about to puke… I don't think I looked much different.

"And _that's_ revenge for third grade!" Cartman growled, letting her go and folding his arms childishly. Wendy just stared at Cartman in disbelief… what was this, confused and angry day? I'd put money on her right now that she was going to murder him… but I would lose, apparently, 'cause she just grabbed him and started macking on him. Okay, okay, gross, gross. Someone, please, for the love of God, blind me. Please, please, PLEASE someone make them stop. I covered my eyes, thinking it was the only way I could shield myself.

I can hear them let go, that loud kissing "smack" echoing in my ears. I shuddered as I hesitantly removed my hands from my eyes. Wendy was glaring at Cartman, her hands on her hips again. Okay, was she going to kick his ass now…?

"You, Eric Cartman, are coming with me. Now!" She grabbed him by the ear and started dragging him off.

"Ow, ow! Lemme go, ho, lemme go!" Cartman demanded, trying to pull himself out of her grasp. Wendy turned towards Stan and flipped him off.

"You can find your own way home!" She screamed, turning away with her head in the air and continuing on her march with fat ass in tow.

I watched as they disappeared… Okay, what the _fuck_ just happened? I turn to Stan, expecting to see him just as confused as I was… I wasn't expecting him to be glaring at me. I gulped… I forgot, he was mad at me. He took a deep breath.

"Okay, Kyle," He started, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath, "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Who did he think he was, Ricky Ricardo? Did that make me Lucy? Wait, what?

Okay, okay, focus on what happened. Focus. Focus. Ow, my head… my eyes… I had to be dreaming… Then again, weirder things have happened to me while I was awake… Why did I think I was dreaming now? I shook my head, taking a deep breath.

"I guess… I guess I do," I muttered in defeat, hanging my head low as if I were a dog caught stealing a steak off of someone's dinner plate.

"You _guess?_" Stan whispered low, his eyes a mixture of anger and confusion. "You… _GUESS?_" He shouted with his hands up in the air. "You're a _real_ work of art, Kyle Broflovski, you know that?"

"… What?" I could only look at him. Mood whiplash… first I was uncontrollably angry, now I'm just completely confused.

"You think that just because I was going to get married, I would forget about you?" He muttered, turning away. "I thought I told you before… It doesn't matter if you don't need me. I'm going to _always_ need you."

I felt my heart ache and flutter all at the same time… I was about to say something before he continued.

"I guess Cartman's your new best friend now, huh?" He said, turning back towards me. I was about to tell him he was wrong, but he continued with a shrug, "I guess he is. After all, you went to your first Vegas trip with him… I really wanted us to have our first Vegas night together, you know?" He laughed bittersweet like. He rubbed his left arm with his right, "But I thought you'd at least tell me if you were going! You just go up and leave South Park, without even telling me! Kyle, I… I thought you died… I didn't know _what _happened to you!" I heard his voice crack as he turned away from me again, "And you left here, with _Cartman_ of all people?" He looked at me, his eyes searching mine, as if that alone would tell him the answer, "_Why?_" He asked, "… Why?" He repeated himself. He looked down at the ground. "Do you…" No, I don't find him as my best friend, _you're_ my best friend, my super best friend… "Do you love him?"

"WHAT?" I shouted to the heavens, catching myself and Stan off guard. I went up and grabbed him by the shoulders, staring up into his cobalt eyes, "I do not, and would NEVER, be in love with that fat ass! I love _you_, Stan!"

… Shit. I let go of his arms and backed away. Shit… God, not only did I piss him off, but now I tell him my deep dark secret? Oh _God,_ he was never going to speak to me again…

"… How long?" I heard him whisper, his head low, his hair covering his eyes.

"Wh-what?" I questioned quietly, still finding it hard to conjure my voice.

"How long have you loved me?" He asked.

"What, why?" I asked. I gulped, I could feel my own voice cracking. "Why does it matter? I mean, you love Wendy, right? And it's not like it would be easy for us to be together, if at all possible…"

"Kyle!" He grabbed me by the shoulders this time, staring hard into my eyes, "Just answer the Goddamn question!"

"… I… I'm not… I'm not completely sure how long," I told him, avoiding his gaze, "I realized it when I was sixteen though…" My voice kept on going lower. I wasn't sure if it was out of embarrassment or fear of rejection.

"… When we were on my roof, looking up at the stars?" He asked quietly. I blinked and looked him in the eye. "And then we saw that shooting star, and we both said at the same time, 'make a wish?'"

"Y-yeah… how… how did you know?"

He laughed under his breath and just looked me in the eye. He tilted my head up by the chin, and I felt my eyes flutter slowly close as his lips touched mine softly. My heart began to race, and his arms left my shoulders and grabbed around my waist, pulling me closer to him. My hands slowly came up and rested on his back. He let go of the kiss, and my eyes slowly opened. His eyes were swimming with emotion… I could stare into them forever, I thought to myself… it's like the ocean… He rested his forehead on my shoulder, relaxing into my embrace, and I into his.

"… That's when I fell in love with you," He whispered, a small laugh escaping him, "… I knew I should have kissed you then." He shook his head, bringing his lips onto my neck and kissing me softly. I don't care how many times I've said it… how could I not be dreaming…?

"That's what I thought too, you know," I found myself saying, trying not to laugh… it was so absurd… we've been in love with each other for so long… and neither of us told each other… God, we're both so… _stupid._ Stan just shook his head in the crook of my neck.

"So how are going to get home?" He chuckled, "I rode here with Wendy."

"Umm… I have my car but… I'm out of gas," I admitted sheepishly, "And… I have no money."

"Well, I guess I'm your white knight, huh?" He laughed, me following suit. I hope I wasn't blushing, considering I was thinking that not too long ago.

Not too much later, we were in my car, driving towards South Park, our home town. I couldn't help but thinking how right this feels, sitting beside him, knowing he loves me as much as I love him. I let him drive, telling him I just didn't feel like driving. The truth was, I was really too sick to drive. My hangover wasn't as worse as Cartman's, but it was still there… driving would not be fun in that condition.

"So," he started as he stared ahead at the road. He had a small smile on his face. My smile was probably a lot bigger than his. In fact, I think I was grinning. I looked over at him, "Exactly what _did_ happen in Vegas?"

I decided to give him the gist of everything that happened so far today. Which meant more of, I was going to give him tiny details and leave the rest for later, not that I really remembered anything anyway… "As you know, I'm broke, he was hung over, and I just wanna go home," shit, even I could hear how whiney my voice sounded there.

Stan gripped the steering wheel and sighed, then coughed out a laugh, "I guess that's what you get for waking up in Vegas." I couldn't help but laugh a bit; it was true, after all.

"You don't know the half of it," I commented. Hell, _I_ didn't even know the half of it. I wasn't going to tell him that though. He was already mad enough at me for leaving South Park without saying anything to him. If I told him I drank so much I didn't even know _what_ the fuck happened last night, then he'd be really fucking pissed. I didn't want that right now.

He glanced at me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion; as if he knew I was keeping a secret from him. His countenance then became thoughtful… probably contemplating something… maybe trying to decide something. My heart beat increased slightly, and I didn't really understand why. Slowly, he took his right hand off the wheel, and laid it open palm near me. I hesitantly pulled my hand close to his, placing mine palm down on top of his, a bit jittery, jumping my hand back once or twice. He laced our fingers together almost immediately and squeezed my hand gently. I smiled, trying to fight the blush that was threatening to dye my cheeks. He interrupted my pleasant thoughts, looking at me sternly for just a second before turning his eyes back to the road, "I'd like to hear more about your Vegas adventures." He admitted, never letting go of my hand. Another laugh escaped me; I'd love to tell him, of course, but considering the circumstances, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Dude," I started, shaking my head, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." I shrugged. It was cheesy, but I saw it fitting for the situation. I stiffened a bit, hoping that the reply wouldn't offend or upset him. I relaxed when he started laughing.

"Of course, of course, how could I forget?" He rolled his eyes. Obviously he wasn't too forgiving I wasn't going to tell him, which I would if I could remember, but he was going to let it go. He lifted my hand up and kissed the top of it, nuzzling it lightly, and returned it back between us. There was a silence as my face became crimson; my smile wider than it should be, before he said softly, "I love you." I _swear_ my heart started melting right then and there.

"I… I love you, too, Stan," I almost whispered, but I know he heard me. Then I chuckled before saying, "But still, what happens in Vegas –" I started, before he shook his head, rolling his eyes again, a few laughs escaping him as well.

"I know, I know, _stays_ in Vegas." He said, "But I know the real reason you aren't telling me." He said. I blinked and quickly looked at him, almost in astonishment, "Well, you'll know I'll be mad, and I bet I will be." My breath hitched, "Just tell me later, okay?" He smiled at me before turning back to the road.

"All right, fine, I'll tell you all I remember later," I admitted defeat, shaking my head.

So, sometime soon I would tell Stan all my memory had of what went on while in the gambling city. Still, I wish I could remember… _all_ of what happened in Vegas…


End file.
